by Jay T. Schneider
The center and its complex of small structures surround a courtyard, allowing for interaction with the landscape and surrounding forest. ©The Kubala Washatko Architects, Inc. / Mark F. Heffron
Building a facility to be housed on the ground that inspired A Sand County Almanac is a task not to be taken lightly. What message should be sent with this facility and what design would do the Aldo Leopold Foundation justice? Could this building be a new chapter showcasing the life work of Aldo Leopold?
The building needed to echo the life work of noted conservationist Aldo Leopold and embody the land ethic he crafted many years ago. It also needed to be a legacy to this ecologist and conservation pioneer.
It would seem logical that the building be made not only from local resources and with local craftsmanship, but also that it be one that is built as a green building in every sense of the word.
When discussing the design of the new building, Jennifer Kobylecky, education coordinator for the Aldo Leopold Foundation, suggested, “Let’s make it a physical embodiment of what the land ethic looks like in the 21st century.”
The Man
The Aldo Leopold Foundation self-guided trail brochure has this to say about Aldo Leopold:
Considered by many as the father of wildlife management and of the United States’ wilderness system, Aldo Leopold was a conservationist, forester, philosopher, educator, writer, and outdoor enthusiast. He developed an interest in the natural world at an early age, spending hours observing, journaling, and sketching his surroundings. In 1933 he published the first textbook in the field of wildlife management. Later that year he accepted a new professorship in game management—a first for the University of Wisconsin and the nation. In 1935, he and his family initiated their own ecological restoration experiment on a worn-out farm along the Wisconsin River outside of Baraboo, Wisconsin. Planting thousands of pine trees, restoring prairies, and documenting the ensuing changes in the flora and fauna further informed and inspired Leopold.
In 1949, one year after his death, Leopold’s family edited and published A Sand County Almanac, the book inspired by this ecological restoration experiment. More than two million copies have been printed and it has been translated into nine languages.
The Building
“A land ethic requires equal parts persistence, patience, and foresight in order to result in healthy land.”
—Buddy Huffaker, Executive Director, Aldo Leopold Foundation
The furniture in the conference room is crafted from wood harvested on site. ©The Kubala Washatko Architects, Inc. / Mark F. Heffron
One of the most important aspects of designing the center is that, in constructing the building, the health of the land was actually improved. The inspiration for the building came directly from the recognition that the foundation needed to continue to ensure the long-term health of the forest.
“It was not about creating a building,” said Wayne Reckard, director of business development and interpretive planning director with The Kubala Washatko Architects, Inc., which designed the center. “It was really about creating a place to support the activities of the foundation, as well as support the idea of people coming to understand what Leopold was about.”
Through their research, the foundation discovered that Leopold had planted many of his trees too close together. To ensure the long-term health of the forest, they needed a solution. A thinning could ensure that visitors could encounter these precious pines for another 150 years.
“The center was envisioned as a complex of small structures,” Reckard said. “Breaking the design apart in this manner diminishes the overall scale of the building on the site and creates spaces for people to interact indoors and out. In designing the facility, we were influenced by the words of Nina Leopold Bradley, who said, ‘The Shack was everything, and the Shack was nothing.’”
By a selective thinning, 90,000 board feet were harvested and then used in the construction of the Legacy Center, thus becoming a significant contributor in the calculation of the carbon neutral aspect of the site.
“Our most valuable asset was the Leopold pines that were thinned in 2006 and used as building material—they are such a precious link to Leopold’s legacy,” said Kobylecky. “People who have read the “November” chapter of A Sand County Almanac will remember the quote from ‘Axe in Hand’: ‘I love all trees but I am in love with pines.’ Those pine trees are really a physical representation of Leopold’s sense of place and his love for the land.”
The harvested wood has been used everywhere in the facility, from structural timber to finish materials, including furniture made by local craftsmen for the conference room and other locations throughout the center. By using the Leopold pines in the round for construction, thereby utilizing the entire log, the entire structural skeleton of the center, with the exception of seven pieces of lumber, is composed of Leopold’s pines.
In the center of the courtyard, surrounded by the buildings, is the recycled stone aqueduct. It captures rainwater runoff from the roof and channels it into a rain garden. It also helps to frame the exterior and connects the building to the earth.
The center achieved Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design (LEED) platinum certification with a rating of 61 points in October 2007 by the United States Green Building Council, and became the first building recognized by LEED as carbon-neutral in operation, due primarily to the thinning of the forest, leading to the improved health of the forest and increased longevity. The center produces 110 percent of its annual building energy needs and sets the standard by being a zero-net energy building. The center was honored by the United States Green Building Council as the greenest building it ever rated.
“It’s never really been about being the top LEED-rated building,” Kobylecky said. “It’s been about creating a site that is an amazing demonstration of what can be done when everybody shoots for the top and we were able to achieve that.”
With its construction complete in the spring of 2007, the Aldo Leopold Legacy Center opened it doors to a new chapter of sustainability and demonstration of the “Land Ethic.”
The Message
“The object is to teach the student to see the land, to understand what he sees, and enjoy what he understands.”
—Aldo Leopold
The Aldo Leopold Foundation has three strategic priorities: 1. To foster Leopold’s concept of a land ethic, which is accomplished with education and outreach. 2. To advance Leopold’s concept of land health, which is achieved through conservation science and stewardship programs. 3. To cultivate leadership in conservation, which is served in large part by employing interns.
“We created a place for people, on their own—emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually—to come to a better understanding of what Leopold meant by a land ethic,” Reckard said. “That was the central interpretive goal, and to do that, you created a much calmer place that was in the background and where the land itself was in the foreground and experienced by people for themselves.”
When asked, “Has the Legacy Center brought a renewed interest in the land ethic?” Aldo Leopold Foundation Executive Director Buddy Huffaker responded, “For those who have read and been inspired by A Sand County Almanac, the center places the land ethic in the 21st century and embodies the commitment of millions of people to an idea, a vision, that is more relevant today than when it was written in the 1940s.”
My Connections
“The Shack”served as a weekend and summer retreat for the Leopold family. Jay T. Schneider
From the moment I turned off the paved road, I felt it calling to me, the land that inspired A Sand County Almanac. I first read this book 16 years ago and each time I have read it since, it has resonated in me the reason for my work and has kept me centered in life. Having the opportunity to step on that ground, the very ground in the sand counties that inspired a conservation classic, is a humbling experience.
After a short walk down the trail, there it was, the shack, tucked back under the pines. I had the feeling that one of the Leopolds would come around the corner of the building any minute and continue their daily chores, as if no time at all had passed since the 1940s.
I felt as if I were walking on hallowed ground. I spent a couple of hours in silence walking the trails around the shack and getting a feeling of reverence, a feeling similar to going to church on a special day of observance. I just had to walk all of the trails. Something inside me insisted on it. Around a turn in the trail, I found the plaque on the ground that reads, “Rest! Cries the chief sawyer…” I had found the spot of the “Good Oak.” I looked up to imagine how tall it must have been and tried to imagine the scene as the Leopold family cut this past giant down that February day more than 60 years ago. The stump has long since melted away into the landscape and the small plaque on the ground is the only reminder of this oak and its significance.
Another trail led me down to the Wisconsin River. I cannot express the connection I felt to this small landing on the river as I sat in the sand and drank in the moment. Many people have read A Sand County Almanac, but how many have had the opportunity to reflect on it in the exact location of its inspiration and to the see the transformation of this piece of land so many years after planting all those pines? I felt honored to be at this site and to be able to take it all in.
The current pushes the lifeblood of our planet constantly by and the only witness to its flowing seemed to be me, a log washed ashore, and some tracks in the sand from an early morning visitor. No wonder Leopold chose this place.
“The land ethic simply enlarges the boundaries of the community to include soils, waters, plants, and animals, or collectively: the land.”
—Aldo Leopold
For More Information
Visit the Aldo Leopold Foundation at www.aldoleopold.org or call 608-355-0279. Visit The Kubala Washatko Architects, Inc., at www.tkwa.com or call 263-377-6039.
Jay T. Schneider is an interpreter with Arkansas State Parks at Lake Fort Smith State Park. He can be reached at jay.schneider@arkansas.gov.
Generation Green: Creating Better Buildings and Students
by Tracey M. Lewis-Giggetts, MBA
The assignment was to propose the design of a new campus for either an existing or fictional university complete with a visual aid and business proposal. The students, mostly architecture majors, initially found the project daunting, and in their words, corny (translation: hard and different.) I, on the other hand, found myself relieved in knowing that I could escape the exhausting and mind-numbing task of wading through a pile of heavily cited, 10-page research papers. By the time the final grade was submitted, both my students and I would be profoundly impacted in two very distinct ways.
Even in my desire for a more creative approach to the finals requirement for the Writing Seminar for Design course I was teaching (admittedly borrowed from a colleague), I couldn’t have begun to imagine the untapped well of creativity and seemingly uncommon sensibility reflected in the projects that I would eventually grade. Ninety-five percent of the architecture students presented designs that reflected their “green” perspectives. With sustainable (also referred to as green) architecture or design as the common theme, each proposal included various ways their campuses could function as both institutions of learning and shining examples of environmental responsibility.
I began to wonder if this were an isolated occurrence, if maybe I’d come across an anomaly of green consciousness within the sophomore student body or if, in fact, these babies of the ’90s had truly internalized some next level, green doctrine and were, upon graduation, preparing to launch a full-on assault on all things not-green.
To find out, I assigned the same final project the following semester to a similar demographic of students. Not surprisingly, the results were the same. The students were blending traditional design elements with non-traditional design elements that were rooted in the new sustainable concepts they were discovering in their classes and in the books they were reading. Their visual aids depicted campuses that had solar water-heating systems, explored unique and efficient ways to dispose of waste, and utilized renewable plant materials like bamboo and recyclable stone as building materials, just to name a few. Alongside their designs were proposals that offered well-balanced critiques of the sustainable design industry, including its economic implications and impact on traditional and historical structures. Some even extended their examination of sustainable design by conducting comparative analysis of the “green” industry, investigating levels of acceptance, perceptions, and technical elements most employed, here in the United States and globally.
The outcome? An explosion of ingenuity and engagement that I’d yet to see in any other class, offering a peek at the next-generation viewpoint in architecture and its function in a more “green”-conscious society. And, of course, I had my first genuinely exciting experience grading finals.
Sustainable design is often formally defined as the art of building physical objects that adhere to various principles of economical, social, and ecological sustainability. More telling, however, are the informal perspectives of students like Rhiannon Sinclair, a sophomore architecture student at Philadelphia University, who view the differences between sustainable design and more traditional approaches in terms unrelated to actual design techniques or elements. Sinclair says, “The main differences between the two could be attributed to a more cognizant approach to designing in reference to the environment but still centering the design on human comfort rather than designing for design sake.” In other words, to be a “green” architect, you must have a sense of awareness that extends beyond human comfort to the protection and consideration of the environment without sacrificing human comfort altogether.
Let’s consider sustainable design’s impact beyond the obvious environmental advantages. Even with my limited knowledge of sustainable design terminology, I understand that without a more resource-efficient and environmentally sound approach to living, the human race could find itself functioning at a deficit in the not-so-distant future. Yet, as I sat in the classroom and listened intently to the final presentations of my students, many who had only a recent exposure to sustainable design concepts, I encountered a far more significant impact wielded by this particular field of design.
The depth of awareness required by someone studying sustainable architecture creates, in my observation, a more sophisticated and innovative student (and ultimately, professional). This was greatly evidenced by the campus projects proposed in my writing course. Additionally, an interdisciplinary advantage is gained by the student as a greater level of critical thinking is developed by making complex decisions such as which “green” idea fits the function and purpose of a particular structure (vs. dumping them all into one building). Add to that the ability to articulate that decision based upon one part knowledge and two parts sensitivity toward the responsibility of the design, and you not only have a recipe for an accountable and inspiring carrier of the green legacy, but a well-rounded student who can carry these skills into other areas of their academic education.
This active engagement by students who otherwise would likely remain focused on simply regurgitating information and passing a test will inevitably grow in generations to follow as sheer necessity will encourage the use of sustainable design beyond simple trends. This is a fact that students understand. Sinclair continues, “A new ecological understanding and a realization that human behavior is impacting its own survival has created a popular demand [for sustainable design] in the building realm.” Whether or not necessity drives innovation or innovation drives the necessity, the fact remains, at least in one career path, the highly sought after “awakening” that instructors often seek to inspire in their students, is quite attainable.
So where does the future find old-fashioned, out-of-touch 33-year-olds like me who still believe that recycling and using energy-efficient light bulbs is enough of a contribution to the green movement? Most likely living in the fabulous, solar-paneled, bamboo-walled, sustainable retirement homes designed by the generation born only 15 years after us—the very students that I am so fascinated by today.
Tracey M. Lewis-Giggetts is a Philadelphia-based freelance writer, business consultant, and educator. She is an adjunct professor at both Philadelphia University and the Community College of Philadelphia.